Desire and Deserve
by hannah askance
Summary: For rowan-greenleaf. A chance meeting wakes Draco Malfoy up in a way he's never truly known before. D/G, not epilogue compliant.
1. Prologue

I really shouldn't start a new one, but here it is anyway, kudos to **rowan-greenleaf**'s highly intriguing plot bunny.

I don't own _Harry Potter_ or its characters and situations, nor am I making any money off this.

_Much_ thanks go to **Ha'niqua**, who will forever be one of my superheroes, and Katie, Kira and Ky, all of whom are made of plain awesome.

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><p><em>First deserve, then desire.<em> (English Proverb)

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Draco Malfoy was desirable.

He came from a long line of pure-blooded wizards, a family descended from the notorious Mal Foi of the Middle Ages. He was the sole heir to not only the considerable Malfoy fortune, but also the Black's wealth. Last, though certainly never least, Draco Malfoy was attractive. The silkiness of his platinum locks, the piercing calculation in his silver eyes and the almost sensual edge to his smirk all showed that he had been raised to believe that appearances did indeed matter.

Any woman who knew who he was and could also understand the kind of potential grasped in his hands would have gladly killed to be his wife. More than a few wept bitterly when Astoria Greengrass was chosen for that particular position. After a while, however, it became apparent that the marriage between Draco and Astoria Malfoy was a rather unhappy one - at least, it did if one either knew how to read them or, more likely, knew enough of the right crowd to have heard the whispers.

It was not by mere coincidence that Melinda Hartridge was part of the so-called crowd. She had invested irreplaceable amounts of blood and sweat to have gotten there, and she would have never dreamt of regretting it. She had a powerful place in society, greatly reinforced by her girls. Personally, Melinda thought that her girls were among the deadliest creatures of the night. Secrets were deadly - especially secrets whispered in a tangle of limbs, between needy moans; secrets not quite muffled by cloth.

Draco Malfoy did not have any secrets which Melinda knew of. Her girls had his peers - Theodore Nott, Marcus Flint, even the illustrious Blaise Zabini - but not him, and she was beginning to think of him as a wasted opportunity. Many women had stopped pursuing Malfoy after his marriage, but she knew better. She knew that any woman who he took as mistress would hold so much more power and influence than a mere wife if she could play the arsenal of secrets on her side.

Pursuing Draco Malfoy had been a difficult and competitive game when he was a bachelor. Now that he was bound to a marriage, the game was not over. It just held greater, more dangerous stakes - but the rewards were much more promising. Draco Malfoy, pure-blooded, socialite, attractive and _married_, could never be caught with a mistress.

But Melinda's girls have told her that he might as well have been a pretty statue made of ice - enticing, but never enticed. It was then that Melinda Hartridge began to understand him.

Draco Malfoy knew what it was like to be desirable, but not what it was to truly, achingly _want_; the lazy, pleasant coursing of lava through fragile veins, every fantasy subtly taking over until all at once flaring into a ravenous, devouring fire of something sinfully unnameable.

No, he did not understand - until the day Ginny Potter appeared into his life.


	2. Chapter 1

Who needs motivational coaching when you have reviews? Thanks so much to all who reviewed last chapter!

So... here's the next one. (Much love, as always, to the Ks for being great support, Rowan for letting me play with her PB, and Haz, who is undeniably quite the Glamazon.)

Glinda's name is a vague reference to Gregory Maguire's _Wicked_, which I don't own either.

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><p><em>First deserve, then desire. <em>(English Proverb)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

His first sight of her in ten years was in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It was the hair that caught his attention: the garish Weasley red, shaken out of a ponytail to brush off soot as she rushed out of the Floo grate next to his. Physically, she had not changed much. She had matured, her hair longer, her figure softer, her face wiser. She was so recognisable – so plain, and yet so attractive in that utterly peasant way of hers.

_Three frightened faces. Two pairs of bewildered eyes. A blazing wand. "Get out of our way, Malfoy."_

Draco blinked and found himself waiting in line behind her at the reception counter.

"Excuse me," she was saying to the Welcome Witch, somewhat out of breath, "is there a Harry Potter here today? He said that the Auror checkup schedule's been changed –"

The blonde witch behind the counter gave a tiny snort, not even bothering to look up from her outdated Witch Weekly. It seemed as though St Mungo's 'Welcome Witches' were becoming less and less welcoming with every new employee, Draco thought with snide displeasure. "That depends; who's asking?"

Wea– Potter scrunched her nose in irritation. "How about his wife?"

Draco was amused to watch the blonde witch jerk upright and stare openly. "Ginevra _Weasley_?" she gasped. "_The _Ginny Weasley of the Holyhead Harpies?"

Potter grimaced. "Formerly," she corrected.

There was no mistaking the blonde's star-struck expression. "Are you kidding? Before you, the Harpies – I mean, you defined them, you're irreplaceable, no matter how good Natalie McDonald is, she's not – oh, can I _please _get an autograph?"

Offering a practiced smile, Potter replied, "O-of course, um–?"

"Glinda." She beamed, suddenly radiating exuberance. "It's Glinda. And, um, I know I've got my notebook here somewhere..." She looked up, panicked, as if she expected Potter to have disappeared in the two seconds she'd spent not gazing at her idol. "Um, I'll be right back, I promise, please don't go anywhere –"

"But wait, what about Har–" Potter sighed as Glinda Apparated in the middle of her sentence. Leaning on the counter, she drummed her fingers on the counter top, turning her head to the side, when her eye caught Draco's.

His mind panicked. It was not the right time. It never was. He had so much at risk - starting up a conversation with Potter could be good for his family's public image, but what if she took after her idiot brother and decided to start a scene? What if she started flinging accusations at him in public? What if –

His eyes widened imperceptibly as she turned to fully face him and opened her mouth... and apologised. "Oh, no. I am so sorry," she babbled, smiling sheepishly, "I wouldn't have told her if I knew you were also waiting..."

Draco nodded at her. "It's all right," he said, inwardly relaxing. That was all she wanted. To apologise for his potential tardiness. "I have some time on my hands, although," he added rather sneakily, "it doesn't seem you have the same privilege at the moment."

She sighed and shook her head. "Harry told me last week that there's been a change of schedule," she explained. "Aurors have compulsory monthly checkups to the hospital, apparently – need to check if they've been hit by any dormant curses, or something. I almost forgot it was today." Smiling wanly at his surprised expression, she added, "I know I'm being open, but everyone and their dog knows that Harry Potter's an Auror, anyway." She cocked her head. "But what brings you here, Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. She'd recognised him after all. "A bit of business," he replied vaguely, his mind again descending into a wild search for strategy. Her casual indifference, knowing he was a Malfoy, was baffling. He had attended his father's trial and religiously followed its aftermath. Many now knew of Lucius Malfoy and the victim of the cursed diary – none other than Harry Potter's own fiancée at the time, Ginevra Weasley.

Ginny Potter-née-Weasley laughed, an amused sound which cut through his confusion and caught his attention. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she began, "but it's nice to see an old face. Merlin, you've really changed, Malfoy." He could only detect a scant amount of rudeness in her voice which, Draco realised with a smirk, was meant to be a challenge.

"Can't say the same, I'm afraid," he remarked frankly, the corner of his lip still lifted. "You haven't changed at all, Weasley."

Something sparked in her eyes at her maiden name. "Didn't you hear?" she asked innocently. "I go by Potter these days."

His eyebrow shot up. This Weasley had a playfully cheeky side. "As a matter of fact, I did hear. Or read, rather. The large blocks of letters in the headlines would've been difficult to miss."

"Oh, did you want to miss them, then?" she shot back at him, openly smiling, her arms crossed.

Draco thought the sheer cheek in that question would have gotten her a week's worth of detention in the dungeons back at school. Then he realised how ridiculous it was to relate the current conversation to a memory of a place ten years away. "As... _wonderful _your wedding and the news itself was..." An annoyed Narcissa murmuring scathing comments on the lack of taste the Potter-Weasley wedding planner possessed came to mind. "I hardly think... Well, something like that would belong in the gossip section, not the front page."

He'd forgotten how refreshing it was to deal out honesty.

Potter laughed at his remark. "It was a bit overblown, but you needn't sound so annoyed about it. At least it was more interesting than the Kneazle incident they slapped on page two." Mischief crept into her voice. "Why, were you disappointed you couldn't find yourself in the front page? Were you on page seven or something?"

"What?" Screw propriety. Was she _playing _with him?

"Well, you always liked attention at school," she offered, grinning. "Come to think of it, I'm sure I saw your name in an article the other day. _Maladies in Malfoy Marriage_, if I remember correctly."

Draco's fingers spasmed into a fist.

"Probably Rita Skeeter's, now that you think about it. I swear her stuff gets more ridiculous each time, even without those stupid alliterations. They're all a complete load of horse–" She stopped abruptly, staring at him. "...Malfoy?" she asked hesitantly, no playfulness in her tone.

His laugh was sharp. "We were never quite right for each other, if you ask me," he said, giving a half-smile, half-grimace. He tried not to sound too bitter about it.

Potter's eyes went wide. "I... I'm sorry," she stuttered, horrified at her faux pas. "I didn't know..."

Her gaze was fixed on him, and he couldn't look away. Her eyes were brown and keen and warm and sincere. They were shadowed, he noticed, as if concealing murky depths, but they were _sincere_.

"Miss Wea– er, Mrs Potter–"

And just like that, those eyes broke away from his, and it all returned to a blur as she scribbled her autograph across a page and was finally told of her husband's whereabouts by a flustered witch.

Without warning, she caught his eyes again.

She smiled. "It was nice seeing you, Malfoy." Nodding at him, she walked past him, remembering to rush, and his nose brushed her hair.

_"Let - go - of - me –" She successfully wrestled her way out of his arms and pointed her wand at him._

_His nose felt like it was being scorched, and he howled in pain._

She still smelled of vanilla.


End file.
